Stain on Fine Porcelain
by SameroniLB
Summary: Dean didn't know when it started. But for all he was worth (which wasn't much in his opinion) he wanted nothing more than for it to go away.


Dean didn't know when it started. But for all he was worth (which wasn't much in his opinion) he wanted nothing more than for it to go _away_. It started with a simple touch, he thinks. Or maybe it was when he walked in. No no, perhaps it started when he was first told to hold, and _run_. Either way, it was bad and here and no matter how hard he tried, it wasn't leaving. Like a stubborn stain on fine porcelain, it was there to stay and no matter the amount of alcohol, woman, or work he indulged himself in, it wasn't changing.

He remembered when he first felt that _spark_, that rush of warmth pool low in his gut and he couldn't look at himself in the mirror for weeks, much less _touch_ himself for months. It wasn't that he found it wrong that he got turned on, it was by _whom_ that really messed him up. It was just a simple brush of his hand, just against his lower back, a signal to turn a certain way on a hunt because if they spoke they would be caught.

Too bad his body thought different.

He managed to ignore it at the time, too focused on the hunt, too focused on keeping Sammy safe, but the moment he got home and showered? His mind ran over the details of the hunt, he was tired and sore and decided some fun would be at hand. It started out average, his mind procuring image after image of nameless ladies, pretty and spread out for him, but as he neared completion, his mind took a total one-eighty on him.

It wasn't girls underneath him, or hell, even a _dude_ (he could deal with a gay crisis), no his mind decided it would be a great idea to totally _mindfuck_ him. The image he saw as he spilled over his hands was just _wrong_ on so many levels, he nearly puked. He was beneath Sam, _spread_ for Sam like some dessert, dull nails digging into his back with each thrust and he even managed a strange, garbled version of Sam's name when he finished.

He watched his seed wash down the shower drain with a numb sort of shock, eyes wide at what he had just done. He stood there for what felt like minutes, hours, hell, it felt like _days_ until he heard pounding on the door, Sam's familiar voice yelling at him to hurry up before he used all the hot water.

He couldn't face himself for the longest time.

It happened again several months later, he didn't mean to not knock, he was just tired and wanted to sleep. So what if he barged in? Well yeah, that's what he thought also, except– haha, sharing rooms someone's going to have an awkward run in eventually._Maybe he should really learn to knock_, was all his mind could produce when his vision flooded with Sam kneeling over some random girl, fucking her into the mattress.

Yeah he really should. He ran out as fast as possible, thankfully none of them noticing the thirds presence for all the glorious two seconds he spent staring before fleeing with his tail between his legs. He couldn't deny that he was hard as hell after witnessing the scene, jerking himself off quick and quietly in the Impala, his mind wanting nothing more than for _him_ to be the girl beneath Sam. But as he cleaned himself off all his mind could want then was for him to just disappear. Not be here and ruin Sam with his fucked up self.

It happened progressively more as the months went on, him hiding away to jerk himself off to his fucking _brother _of all people, his mind always ready and armed with filthy images of him and Sam. Mouth always being clamped shut by one of his hands, lest he moan too loudly or whimper Sam's name, because god forbid he knew what Dean dreamed of at night. Yearned for every time he saw Sam getting dressed or finishing a monster off. _Craved_ every time he saw Sam flirting with some woman, letting himself indulge for once after a hunt well done.

Sometimes he would be daring enough to do it in the middle of the night, when Sam was just asleep something feet over, snoring away in dream land while Dean lay awake, body aching for things that could never happen. _Will _never happen. No matter what, he would never drag Sam down into the depraved, fucked up world he managed to get himself into.

And sometimes… Well sometimes he thinks Sam knows about his little secret. Sometimes sideways glances last too long, sometimes awkward pauses happen when they shouldn't, sometimes Sam makes a quick escape where usually he wouldn't. This only made Dean feel more like a piece of shit than he already was. Because Sam, if Sam _knew_, he was only sticking with Dean because to him, his sweet_ little brother_, it would be the right thing to do. Because he knows running away again will be the final straw for Dean. Knows Dean can't handle losing all of his family again.

It was another one of those nights, Dean quietly bringing himself to completion, image after image of Sam fucking him onto any available surface flashing, Sam snoozing away on the other bed. He rolled onto his back, one fist over his mouth (as customary) to block out any sounds that might escape him, because Sam was right over there, could wake any minute, could see at any moment just how _fucked up_ his elder brother was, and leave him for good finally. And Dean would let him leave, because he can't ruin Sam. Not Sam, never him.

A whimper of Sam's name left him and he was almost done, a sigh (of pleasure? guilt? remorse? he could never tell) leaving him as he was just about to finish, reach that point of immense pleasure yet painful oblivion, when he heard a rustle from Sam's bed. He froze mid-movement, breath stilling as his chest clenched painfully tight. Oh god, _oh fuck_, what if he heard him? What if he was about to get up and tell Dean how much of a piece of shit he was? Tell him how screwed up he was, for even _wanting_ such things to happen?

He stayed quiet, not daring to make the smallest movement, because Sam has the same training as him, can hear the smallest sound, can catch the slightest shuffle. It was horrendously quiet, the only sounds Dean's muffled breathing and the rustling from Sam's bed, the clock tick tick ticking away directly above him. Each second counted merely added to the compression of fear on Dean, just waiting for the hammer to fall, waiting for his punishment for such sick wants to finally be served.

But the hammer never fell, and the punishment never served, because all he received for his trouble of flattening himself to the bed and silently freaking out was Sam's voice, soft and tired.

"Dean." Was all that was said and Dean nearly sobbed, nearly broke down because Sam was right there, right there and he_heard_ him. All he managed was a choked cough, his dry throat protesting. He heard Sam moving to get off the bed and he was ready to bolt, ready to pack the fewest items, and just get the fuck out of dodge because he can't deal with this. Can't deal with Sam's disgust. Not now, not then, not ever.

"If you try to run I swear Dean I will not hesitate to shoot you in the foot." Came Sam's morning-rough voice, far too close and when Dean glanced warily to his side, Sam. Was right. _There_.

His breath hitched and his body pressed itself further into the mattress. He resisted the urge to turn his head away, to hide from the impending judgement, but if this was to happen he would be no coward. No matter how much he wanted to be at the moment. He would face Sam just this one last time, see him in all his glory before being kicked to the curb, before being forgotten and written off as that 'creepy family member we don't really like to talk about'.

With all the balls he could muster he looked up at Sam, meeting his eyes and trying to tell himself he's imagining the dilated pupils, because its dark in here so of course Sam's pupils are large. Doesn't mean he can't fantasize. But it does, because its only proving the unspoken point of what a sick individual Dean really is. He shuffles away the imagery for later, right now trying to keep up the courage to keep looking at Sam, to keep fighting the urge to flee so bad no matter the threat tossed his way.

Sam stayed standing by his bed for the longest time, his eyes ghosting over Dean's form every so often. Dean could only lay down and squirm under the scrutinizing gaze, fear racketing and now going head to head with his diminishing bravery. He made a move to cover himself further, to push the blankets just so, so the outline of his hands placement wouldn't be so obvious, so what he was doing wasn't so obvious. He stopped however when just as his hand was pulling the covers he received a low (jesus fucking christ) _growl_ from Sam, words thick as they told him not to move.

He swallowed thickly. Sam found him more disgusting than he thought.

"Uh… Sam?" His voice was small, but he was terrified and his brother just fucking _growled_ at him. Sam didn't say anything, just shuffled onto the bed and Dean definitely tried to scoot away, to get away before Sam did whatever he believed Dean deserved. Its not like he didn't deserve it though, but he was allowed a little lee way, because Sam was a freaking giant and was looming over him, the lighting leaving him a dark silhouette that appeared to be a monster about to devour Dean whole (not that he would be against it if it was). Then again, no, he would be.

He couldn't destroy Sam, couldn't drag him to his level.

All thought process however quickly died when Sam moved next, his body moving to be kneeling over his, balancing his weight on his arms which were on either side of Dean's head. Dean clenched his jaw and ignored the stab of _want_ that coursed through him. Sam wasn't into him, wasn't into the sick shit he was, no, Sam was good and _normal_. Sam was one day going to leave him and go on to become a lawyer and have kids and a wife and a lovely home with a dog.

Sam was only doing this to be cruel, to rub into his face what he could never have, _would_ never have. And he deserved it, deserved it for wanting it in the first place. He just never anticipated Sam to be like this, this torturous. But then again, what if their roles were reversed? Would he do the same? Perhaps he would, but he would never know, because he was the fucked up sibling, not Sam.

He let out a shaky breath when Sam leaned away, balancing on his knees and glaring Dean down from his bangs. Dean couldn't take this, he couldn't. But he would, he would take what Sam would dish out to him and then leave, never to bother Sam again. Maybe he'll leave the Impala to Sam, then take a dive off a high building. No, he doesn't like heights, maybe a few pills. Or maybe he should go out with the colt, have it sent to Sam afterwards. Though that would be cruel, and he couldn't be that to Sam, no matter what. He'll just take a few pills and take a nice long bath. That would do well he supposed.

Dean turned his head to the side, unable to handle the intensity of Sam's stare, his mouth forming a deep frown. He didn't know what to say, what he could say. That's the problem though, there's nothing he _could_ say, because there's nothing _to_ say. Other than 'Hey Sammy, I kinda fantasize about you fucking me, no weird feelings right?'. World kill him first before those words ever have to be said out loud.

Sam shuffled a bit above him before grabbing his knees, drawing them up and open, his eyes dark as they glanced over Dean's form. Dean muffled a whimper at the feel of Sam's large hands on him, the actual _feel_ of them more intense than that of any fantasy. Too bad it would be over all to soon and he would be on the streets, at least he'll have this on his mind as he drifts away into oblivion. Sam's grip on him tightened slightly, his teeth poking through as he bit into his lower lip.

"Look at me." Sam's voice was quiet, dark, left no room for protest, and who was Dean to deny him? Dean moved his head sluggishly slow, fearing what he would see on Sam's face, disgust? Hate? He didn't know, only that it could be nothing good. When his eyes finally turned to face his sure doom, his breath stuttered in his chest. Sam was above him, shirt removed and chest heaving, pupils blown wide and Dean couldn't help the breathy moan that escaped him at the sight.

Dean turned away, eyes scrunched tight, hands fisted in the sheets below him. No, he told himself firmly, it was all a ploy. It wasn't real. He was dreaming or it was all a cruel act, made to make Dean feel worse. Dean didn't get things and Sam wasn't like him, wasn't messed up and sick like him. Large hands gripped both sides of his face gently, steering him to look at Sam once more.

"I said look at me Dean." The voice was softer this time, gentler, and Dean chanced an eye open, body completely stilling. Sam was inches from his face, kneeling between his splayed legs, eyes earnest and Dean couldn't take that. He couldn't face the possibility that maybe, he wasn't alone on this sick, fucked up feeling. Not the only one affected from their close proximity and screwed up life. His eyes welled and he closed his eyes again.

"Sammy, _please_ I can't, please don't…" He pleaded, voice soft and cracked with emotion. He couldn't take this, couldn't handle what Sam was showing him. Sam's eyes softened, thumbs rubbing away the tears that began to spill from Dean, shushing him with the gentle caress, Dean leaning just the slightest into the warm touch.

"Dean I know, and its okay." Dean shook his head at that, because it wasn't okay, because no matter what they say and anyone else says they're _brothers_ and it'll never be okay.

"Sam, we're _brothers_, its not… you're not supposed, it's not_normal_… it's not right…" He tried, finding it hard to find his voice when Sam was so close to him, rubbing soft circles into his cheeks, the only cloth separating their lower halves the blanket and Sam's jeans.

"Dean, when have we ever been normal?" Sam questioned and Dean wracked his brain for an answer, though it was becoming increasingly hard to speak when his breath became short pants and his brain was busy melting. He couldn't… he wouldn't… he_shouldn't_. He so badly wanted to reach up, wrap his arms around Sam and drag him down, tell him of everything hes wanted for so long, but he can't. He can't be the one to ruin Sam's life. Sam can't be stuck with him, his crude, rude, elder _brother_.

Sam deserved better, deserved a pretty wife who'll love him, kids who'll adore him and a dog he could walk every Saturday. Sam deserved a law degree like he's always wanted, Sam deserved California, he deserved a _life_, a nice, normal, actual _life_. Dean couldn't give that to him, he never could. He could only offer him the Impala and the open road, the promise of a hunt around every corner and the chances of dying nearly every week. That wasn't a life, sure it had been the only one they had, but that wasn't what Sam deserved.

"Would it be so bad if we just… let it go Dean? Whose to stop us? To blame us?" Sam said gently, moving to whisper into Dean's ear, the hot breath ghosting over the shell causing shivers to run up and down Dean's spine. Dean whimpered, no one could stop them, but… the knowledge of what they were doing, just proving to the world how fucked up they really were, how fucked up _Dean_ was for dragging his little brother into all of this, would kill him. He couldn't do that to Sam. He just couldn't.

Sam's hands drifted downwards, running over his sides before dragging the blanket painfully slow down, up over his raised knees then finally completely off of him, leaving Dean completely revealed. Dean let out a whimper, wanting to cover himself but Sam once more gripped his knees, forcing them to stay where they were at. Finally Dean reached up, hands pushing at Sam's chest weakly.

"Sam, we can't man, we just… it's _wrong_." He said, the words tumbling from his mouth clumsily, feeling exposed as Sam's eyes hungrily raked over his nude form, pausing at his hardened length with a lick to his mouth before flicking back up at his face. Sam rubbed soothing circles into Dean's shaking thighs, the touch slow and sure and making Dean almost _writhe_ at the fact this was actually happening. But he was the older brother, he had to draw the line, he couldn't let them go down this road.

"What does it matter Dean? Tell me one person who would honestly give two shits about what we do?" Sam said with more force than before, leaning over so his face was once more close to Dean's, his breath ghosting over his lips and oh how Dean longed to lunge forward and capture those with his. He withheld though, he had to be the voice of reason, he _had_ to be. Had to make sure they didn't burn bridges that couldn't be fixed. Didn't cross a line that once done, couldn't be uncrossed.

"Sam it's not… Its just…" He murmured out, bottom lip quivering as he held himself back from what he so badly wanted to do.

"It's what Dean?" Sam prodded, hands now rubbing into Dean's hip bone, and Dean bit into his lip to strangle any sound, any noise that dared slip from him. He was painfully hard now, making it hard to focus but he had to made sure Sam knew they couldn't do this, shouldn't do this.

"You don't deserve this Sam," he said with a sob when one of Sam's hands went to his inner thighs, "you deserve a house and a wife and kids, not your fucked up elder brother." He choked the rest out, hands balling in the sheets as his eyes scrunched painfully tight, trying his best to picture himself not here. Picture that Sam was not on top of him, hands where they _shouldn't_ be, nearly sharing each others breaths.

Sam's features darkened considerably, grip tightening until it was near bruising, shocking Dean and causing him to look up at Sam with wide eyes. Sam's eyes were dark, almost demonic (and Dean thought for a moment whispering 'christo'), his mouth set in a near snarl, and Dean could only suck in a breath. Sam pushed forward until their foreheads were pressed together, nose brushing and then they _were_ sharing each others breaths. Sam forced him to look at him in the eye, his brown hair falling like a curtain around Dean's so he had only him to focus on.

"Dean I'm an adult, I think I can decide what I want and 'deserve'." Dean wanted to listen to him, hell knows he wanted to, but it wasn't right. Without his knowledge his hands lifted themselves from the sheets, gripping tight onto Sam's upper arms, his nails digging small red crescent shapes into his biceps. His breath was coming in short pants and his mind was racing, demanding him to either push Sam away right now, or just give in.

"Dean no one would blame you, hell _I_ don't blame you." Sam whispered, voice dropping octaves and reaching a pitch Dean had never heard. It was low and rough, rolling off Sam's tongue almost like a purr, and Dean's only response was to grip tighter because he felt exposed and open and terrified and didn't know what to do anymore. Sam moved down to kiss lightly at his chin, moving to his cheek then nose before hovering over his mouth. Dean's eyes were shut and he was making the softest sounds, causing Sam to stop and nuzzle his cheek, encouraging him to open his eyes.

"Dean it's okay. I'm fine with it, I'm more than fine with it." Sam murmured, his face falling to to the side and pushing into Dean's hair. Dean still had his eyes shut and Sam pulled back with a sigh, resting on his heels while keeping his hands still firmly planted on Dean's trembling thighs, rubbing them softly. "Dean, honestly, I've wanted you for a long time also." To this Dean's eyes shot open, red rimmed and wide as they stared into Sam's earnest ones.

"What…?" He whispered tentatively, hands falling from where they held themselves mid air, curling back into the sheets for some small form of comfort. Sam couldn't have meant… He didn't, but… His mind was at a loss. Sam removed a hand to run it through his hair, Dean's leg shifting slightly, ignoring the urge to chase the missing contact.

"I know you think you're one fucked up individual but Dean, ever since I was hell, sixteen? Fifteen? All I could think of was you." He leaned back down, one elbow coming to curve around Dean's head to help support his weight. The hand still on Dean's thigh moved up, running along his flank before coming to rest at his chin, thumb running lightly over Dean's lower lip. Dean leaned into the contact, though he would never say it. "I've always imagined the things I would do to you, whenever I was with a girl I would always imagine it was you, fuck Dean, this has been going since I was fifteen, and if that's not fucked up, then what is?"

Dean couldn't believe his ears. Sam was, Sam had, Sam… Sam was just like him. Telling him he had the same screwed up feelings haunting him since he can last remember. Dean didn't bother to hold back the sob that wrecked him as his hands reached around Sam, tangling them in his hair and pulling him closer. Sam went willingly, angling Dean's face for the first press of tentative lips. All at once a spark ran through their bodies, all the years of repressed urges beginning to pour out of them and into the other.

Dean moaned dizzily into the kiss, his mind still not catching up that this was _happening_ right now and it wasn't a trick, wasn't a hyper-realistic dream, but actual, factual _reality_. Sam was with him, over him, holding him, and kissing him for all he's worth. The kiss was sloppy, full of tongue and desperation but he didn't care because it was finally happening and he didn't have to _pretend_anymore.

Sam broke the kiss, moving to trail more down his throat and chest and Dean could only grab at Sam's hair, arch his back and let moan after moan spill from his throat as Sam's large hands explored his body, purposely avoiding the one area he wanted them most. But then again, as they ran up and down his legs, running up his chest and stopping every so often to circle a nipple he really couldn't complain. Some far corner in the back of his mind was worried that this was all a dream, but when Sam was right there, where he could feel and smell him, he couldn't really bother to listen to it.

"Wanted you for so long Dean, god every time you were with someone I just got so jealous." Sam murmured into his flesh, biting into the arch of his hipbones, soothing the marks with his tongue before moving down to Dean's thighs. "Every time I just wanted to rip them off you. Wanted to be the only one you were with." Dean couldn't respond, his mind still catching up to the fact this was indeed happening. Besides, if he opened his mouth all that would come out would only be gasps, no use trying.

Dean couldn't get a grasp on the situation, his head spinning and mind hazy as Sam finally neared his length, achingly hard and begging for attention. He keened embarrassingly loud when Sam lapped idly at the precome beading the head, his eyes trained on Dean's face the entire time. Sam's large hands were gripping his hips, stopping Dean from bucking up as Sam licked lazily along the member. Screw fantasies, the real thing was _way_ better than anything Dean's mind could produce.

His mind was a litany of Sam's name and curses as Sam licked and sucked, covering the rest of his length with one hand. It was near torture, Sam blowing him slow and long, encouraged by the entourage of words running from Dean's mouth. It was a mix of 'please' and 'want more' and 'Sam' and his brother was absolutely loving the noises he was dragging from him. Dean was nearing his finish, knowing he wouldn't last long, not with Sam being the one doing this, not with him being the one affecting him so.

His back bowed, body tensing as he was _just_ about to be done, until the hand stroking the base of him tightened, stopping him. Dean groaned in complaint and slight pain, the denial racketing him and making his body taught as a bow string pulled tight. He slumped against the bed, panting hard and hands pulling at the sheets, head turned into the pillow while he tried to calm himself.

"Not yet Dean." Sam said, moving back up his body, nuzzling into his hair. Dean turned his head slowly, pleasure clouding his senses and making movement seem a bit more difficult than before. He eyed Sam's face and forced himself not to come at sight of Sam over him, large body nearly covering his own, chest heaving, with his lips shiny and swollen from what he had just been doing previous. "Not until I'm fucking you, clear?" Sam purred into his ear, tonguing the shell.

"Shit don't _say_ things like that Sammy…" Dean groaned out, the pressure building in his abdomen only worsening at the words. Dean felt one of Sam's hands ghost down his body, palming at his ass before pushing lightly between, finger prodding gently at the furled skin. He threw his head back, gasping lightly at the sensation, eyes scrunching tight as the finger pushed in slightly, a burning yet pleasurable warmth spreading through him. Sam withdrew the finger, moving to get off the bed and Dean did not whine at the loss of contact.

"Wait there baby, gotta get you prepared." Sam said and Dean really tried to groan at the nickname, anyone else and he would have laughed and found it stupid, but it was _Sammy_ saying it and somehow that made it better. Dean heard distantly as Sam opened one of their duffel bags, apparently finding the object because he was back over him soon enough, holding a small bottle of lube. Dean thought distantly about where he stashed that, and how long had he had it on him and what for before he noticed Sam was saying something.

"Turn over Dean, easier this way." Dean complied quickly, wanting more of what Sam promised him, already growing addicted. He felt a bit whorish for the way he readily got on his hands and knees, spreading his thighs while burrowing his face into the pillows, hands gripping the sheets nervously. Sam moaned deep in his throat at the sight and Dean's cock throbbed at the sound of it, at the knowledge of how he must look, spread out for Sam. "Yeah just like that." Sam said breathlessly, leaning over to lick at the of Dean's neck, biting softly, whispering words of praise under his breath as he did so.

Sam lent off of him, eyes taking in every little bit of Dean, the curve of his back, the swell of his ass so perfectly presented to him, the pants and clenched hands. Dean heard the pop of the bottles cap and spread himself a bit more, body trembling in knowledge of what was about to happen. He yelped, jumping slightly at the first push of one finger at his entrance, slick and cold from the lubricant. The protrusion stung a bit, and he clenched around the finger, whimpering. Sam used his free hand to massage his lower back, whispering for Dean to just relax, it'll get better soon.

Dean wasn't so sure but it was Sam doing this, Sam telling him it'll get better, and thus he relaxed, forcing himself to go slack. Sam made a pleased hum and his finger slid deeper, meeting no resistance. It was a bit uncomfortable at first, but as Sam's finger moved around, as if searching for something, it brushed against something that had Dean gasping, arching his chest into the bed as a loud keening sound echoed into the room. Who? His face heated up when his brain caught up with him, telling him that he was the one who did that.

Oh well it felt really freaking good, though it still didn't stop him from burrowing his head into the pillows while canting his hips up, pushing back onto Sam's finger, desperate for more of that wonderful friction. Sam seemed to like that he did that, leaning over to nibble at his ear and whisper dirty hot things into his ears, about the things he was going to do to Dean now that he knew he could, of the things he had _planned_ for him. Dean moaned, rocking his hips as Sam's words spread warmth all throughout him, making him dribble precome on the sheets and his stomach.

Without his noticing Sam slipped another finger inside, the stretch and burn dissipated when they both brushed against his prostate, the added finger only increasing the pleasure he felt. He bit into his lower lip, trying to stop the sounds spilling from his mouth. It worked, for all of the ten seconds it took Sam to get fed up with the silence, leaning over Dean's form he brought his hand previously gripping Dean's hip and to his mouth, rubbing along them with an unspoken demand to open.

Dean couldn't help but open, moaning around the fingers. His body pushing into the air, desperate for some friction as his tongue laved over Sam's fingers, teeth scraping at the knuckles as Sam pulled them out. "Don't quiet down, want to hear you." Sam said, his voice was rough as his hand returned once more to Dean's hip, thumb digging in hard enough to bruise. The thought of marks being left behind from Sam only made Dean grind harder, moaning loud and clear when Sam began to scissor his fingers, making sure to stretch Dean properly.

Sam kept on, drawing moan after breath taking moan from Dean, who in turn was pushing back, rolling his hips to push Sam deeper. After what felt like hours of this exquisite torture, Dean following Sam's orders from before to not come until he was inside him, Sam pulled free, sure that Dean was open enough for him. Dean by that time was left a quivering mess, his eyes glazed over in pleasure and thighs trembling with the effort to stay upright, mouth hanging open as he gasped for air.

Dean had no words for how he felt, to finally be here, to _finally_have Sam with him, and although he felt guilty as hell, he couldn't help but lose himself in the feeling he's been craving for so long. He knew once this was all over he would freak, he would panic, but as he heard Sam prepping himself just behind him, he felt calm. He wasn't alone, Sam was right there with him, Sam knew how he felt and _understood_, understood and felt it as he did. Something he never thought would ever be.

He swallowed a shocked sound when he felt something much larger press against him. He clenched against it, wondering how it was going to fit. He may have fantasized about this moment, but he well, he's never _had_ anything up there. Sam made a grunting sound, leaning over to press his forehead between Dean's shoulder blade, breathing evenly and deeply.

"Gotta relax Dean, gotta let me in." He managed to ground out, forcing himself to not just let loose and rut into Dean, into the clenching heat and warmth he knew was just waiting for him. Dean gave a shaky breath and closed his eyes, calming himself and letting his body relax, allowing Sam to press in slowly. "That's it baby, just let me in, just like that…" The words trailed off as Sam became encased in Dean, groaning at the tight heat clenching around him.

Once Sam bottomed out Dean felt impossibly full, warmth filling every crevice of him, his thoughts one long chant of Sam's name. It hurt and the stretch burned, but he knew once it faded that it would become amazingly good. They stayed like that, connected and feeling each other's heart beats pulse, Dean unable to wrap his mind around the fact that the twitching thing inside him was_Sam_. Soon the pain fell away to give into a pleasure so intense Dean couldn't help but rock lightly into Sam, wanting nothing more than for Sam to just move already.

"Sam _please_, just _move_ already, I can take it." He managed to say, able to find no embarrassment in how breathy and slurred his words were. Try taking a bat up the ass and talk completely normal, _then_ tell him how he should sound. Sam leaned off of him, wrapping one large hand around Dean's hip, the other smoothing over his upper back and stopping between his shoulders, pressing his chest into the mattress.

Sam pulled out a few inches, pushing back lightly, as if testing the waters. Dean only moaned and rocked back, mind hazing over with the sensation of _Sam_ pushing in and out of him. The pace was slow at first, shallow thrusts that washed Dean and Sam both over in a gentle pleasure, not deep enough to hit that spot that would drive him insane but enough to drive him slowly wild. Sam wanted this to last, wanted to memorize this moment but when Dean start to push back with more force, words falling unbidden from his lips for Sam to move faster, harder, Sam couldn't possibly deny.

"So fucking tight Dean." Sam groaned, Dean moaning louder and cling tighter to the sheets in response.

He didn't care how loud he was being, all that mattered to him was that this was happening, and that he wasn't dreaming and that Sam was right here with him.

Sam drew away from him, clamping a hand underneath Dean's chest and lifting him against his chest. Dean moaned at the contact, lolling his head against Sam's shoulder, turning it towards his neck. Sam's hand smoothed downwards, gripping the base of his cock and pumping it in sure, soft strokes. Dean brought his hands up and around Sam's neck, clinging to the hair there weakly.

"God Dean you should see yourself… So fucking beautiful, fucking perfect." Sam muttered, his thrusts becoming harder and hitting that perfect spot each time. Dean only moaned in response, relying solely on Sam's strength to keep him upright. Dean was near finishing, feeling static heat pool low in his gut as his body rocked back and forth with Sam's, he could tell his brother was also with the way his hips stuttered in movement, words of praise beginning to slur. Dean didn't want it to end, he didn't want to have to come down from this impossible high and realize what he's done.

All too soon however his body began to pull itself tight, all his muscles straining with the effort to keep moving, before he came with a near shout, coming all over his chest and Sam's hand. His body felt like a rubber band pulled too tight before it snapped, Sam stroking him through his climax while murmuring words into the stretch of skin between neck and shoulder. He fell lax into Sam, too tired to find pleasure in Sam's thrusts, barely managing weak rolls of his hips before he felt warmth shoot through his backside, Sam coming with a grunt.

They fell in a slump together on the bed, Sam pulling out of Dean slowly, Dean himself wincing as his oversensitive body protested the movement. Sam rubbed a hand down his side, burying his face into the back of Dean's neck and hitching a leg over his hips, whispering about how good he was and how perfect he felt.

"Been waiting ages to do this." Sam mumbled tiredly.

Somewhere in the back of Dean's mind he was panicking, panicking about where they were to go from here, what was going to happen, what was going to change. Sam seemed to know what he was thinking, wrapping one large hand around his waist and pulling him tighter to his chest.

"We're fine Dean." Sam said into his hair and Dean managed to crack an eye open, expecting the world to end and the apocalypse to begin just to prove his statement wrong. But nothing happened, the only sounds their shared breathing and the ticking of the clock above his bed. He wondered if it would be bad of him to just relax into Sam's hold, to sleep and not worry, but then again he just let Sam fuck him so sleeping seemed pretty tame in comparison. He groaned and brought a hand to his face, the other curling nervously around the one on his waist.

"You know when I wake up I'm so freaking out on you." Dean said, muffled slightly by the hand rubbing it self weary on his face. Sam's responding by clinging tighter, other arm curling underneath Dean's head. When the high of arousal and excitement finally died down, Dean began to take notice of the sticky mess inside him and on his chest. With a sigh he pushed against Sam, finding him immovable and almost asleep.

"Dude get off I'm fucking sticky." He ground out, come already hardening and becoming uncomfortable.

"We'll clean later, sleep now." His voice was thick and Dean gave up with a slump, pushing his head with more force then necessary onto the one pillowing him, grumpy and tired and well, pleased. Though he wouldn't admit it and he knew the moment he woke up in Sam's arms he was going to flip. Oh well, he'll deal with it when he gets there, right now he was tired and even if he was sticky, it was pretty damn comfortable in Sam's arms. He's never telling Sam that though.


End file.
